SilverClan; The Wolf Chronicles
(Author's note; I got inspired by the Warrior series to make a warrior wolf pack, just like the cat clan. Except they're wolves. I'm not sure if anyone will even like it, but I thought it'd be fun to try xD Review down below, and please enjoy! Your tips and suggestions are very welcomed! Also, FireClan is a story my best friend is writing. We started this idea a couple years ago, but we're just now actually writing it. If I can, I'll try to get her to upload her FireClan Chronicles! Also, wow. Over 2,000 words. I'm usually lucky for 1k!)
Part One, The Beginning
Frostfeather ran terrified through the undergrowth, his furry chest heaving with pants and his silvery gray coat dotted with beads of melted snow. His crystal blue eyes were open so wide the whites showed all around. His small paws stumbled and slipped over the ice and snow banks, but he didn't stop. He had to get away from Bloodlust! He had to escape the threatening growls and teeth of his father. The harsh words he'd said still resonated inside his mind, chilling Frostfeather more than the snowy wind could. He knew that he was too young to be chased out from the pack yet. It was still winter, he was still a pup! It wasn't until mid-spring that the pups were chased away to either starve or start their own pack for survival. Some lucky ones might get to stay and become warriors for their birth clan, but only if they were submissive. That was one thing Frostfeather was not. He was curious, adventurous, strong, brave… but not submissive. It really wasn't much of a surprise that Bloodlust had chased him away so soon. Being the FireClan leader, it was Bloodlust's duty to remain the alpha male, and when his own son began to threaten his position, he knew it was time to take action.
But Frostfeather didn't understand this. His young mind couldn't understand the concept of being chased out during the harsh winter. He would starve to death, he was sure. There was nothing to hunt this time of year. There would be no stray wolves in need of a pack, either. Frostfeather was alone and helpless. Cold and hungry. He had to stop running. With a whimper, he slowed his tired paws and come to a stop in a clearing a couple miles away from the FireClan Camp. He'd never come this far before. Frostfeather didn't even know where he was. The darkness had fallen and surrounded him, but he could see perfectly. The night is when the wolves are active. But this wolf just wanted a warm shelter for sleep. Realizing this wouldn't happen, he had to settle for a little nook under the boulder to the right of the clearing. The snow still seeped through his fur and the wind still nipped at his ears, but at least it offered a little comfort. Turning in a circle a couple times like a pup, he flopped down and covered his nose with his tail. He couldn't sleep, however. Frostfeather wasn't used to all the noises and creaks the oak trees made in the open. All the scuffling and thumping of the snow voles. The eerie whistle of the wind through leafless branches. And, the worst of all, the silence in the background. A never-ending silence. Frostfeather was used to the snores and stirring of his siblings, of the shuffling of the older warriors on night patrol. Even the occasional howl from Bloodlust to signal a new patrol. Out here under his rock, Frostfeather heard nothing. All his familiar sounds and sights were gone forever. Now he was left alone in the cold with no food, no shelter and most importantly… no pack. His little pup heart dropped with the realization he would die alone and frozen. Oh, if only he'd been like his siblings, he wished desperately. If only he hadn't strayed too far too many times, if only he hadn't growled at the elders. If only he hadn't questioned the reason Bloodlust got the best prey in the pile.
A different scuffling interrupted Frostfeather's thoughts and wishes. A wolf scuffling. Alarmed, he lifted his tail from his nose to scent the icy air. He expected it to be the small of FireClan, a warrior after him to either kill or return him. But it wasn't a FireClan scent. Wolf, definitely. But it was from no clan Frostfeather knew. Using his silver pelt to his advantage, he slowly eased from underneath his nook to peer around the clearing. He was in no position to fight, so his best bet was to escape. At first, he saw nothing. But as his eyes focused over the snow, he spotted a pure white she-wolf, only slightly bigger than him. He could smell her weak state and could tell by her lean figure it had been awhile since she'd had a decent meal. She'd collapsed in the center of the clearing, as if her paws refused to carry her any further. The hackles of the back of Frostfeather's neck and tail relaxed. This she-wolf was no threat to him, not in the least. Now that he was closer, he could tell she wasn't from a clan. Her scent was too random and vague for it to be from a clan. His heart reached out to the white wolf. She was in the same boat as him. Lost and hungry and alone. Debating whether or not to approach her, Frostfeather observed her closely. She looked a year older than him, he guessed. Skinnier then any wolf he'd seen. Her eyes were closed and her chest and stomached raised with uneven breaths. It was obvious she was dying. Frostfeather began to pad closer, making enough noise to warn her of his approach. Her dark eyes opened, and she glared at him with a snarl. With difficulty, she pushed herself to her paws and bared her teeth. Frostfeather was surprised. This wolf was definitely a fighter. Even though she was starved, cold and exhausted she still managed to push herself into defense mode. Frostfeather stopped in his tracks and lowered his head, ears back to show her respect. He had to ill intentions. The she-wolf only growled and backed up a few paces, regarding him carefully. Frostfeather couldn't help but feel impressed. She was a tough one, she was. Giving in to her wishes, he retreated to the corner of the woods on the opposite side of the clearing from her. She watched him for a long while, but her weariness finally got the better of her and she allowed herself to lie down and sleep. But Frostfeather was a determined pup. He'd never been much good at hunting, but motivation and luck worked on his side for once. Within a half hour, he'd caught a couple snow voles. It was hardly a meal for a starving wolf, but it would have to do. Making sure she was entirely asleep, he eased closer and dropped the voles a few feet away, grumbling to awaken her. She, as before, jumped to her paws. But this time it was forced, as if he muscles were fighting against her. Frostfeather nudged the voles forward, worried they were getting stiff from the snow. She growled, but gave in to stomach. Leaping forward, she devoured the voles within seconds, licking her muzzle for more.
"I'm no threat, I don't want to hurt you," Frostfeather conveyed to her. He kept his head and eyes low, avoiding any threatening actions. She hesitated, but then dipped her own head in response.
"What are you called?" He asked the she-wolf, looking her over. If she fattened up a little and got a bath, she would be a very attractive wolf. He already felt a little nervous. But she gave no indication of answering his question.
"No name, huh? Well, that's alright. You can call me Frostfeather!" He told her, giving her his best wolf smile. She cocked her head but that was all. He was beginning to wonder if she could even speak wolf…
"Uhm, sorry I couldn't catch more for you…" He trailed off, running out words. He might as well be talking to his nook for all her responses were. Oh, yeah. His nook!
"If you don't mind, we can share my little nook in the rock over there. It's the most shelter we have out here, for now," Frostfeather offered, swishing his tail in the direction of the rock. She stood still for a moment, but began limping her way to the nook. Following her a few paces back, Frostfeather couldn't help but notice her cracked and cut pads on the bottom of her paws. Her whole self seemed injured, even down to her soul. Had she forgotten how to communicate all the moons she's been left alone, he wondered sadly. A crazy and immature dream began forming in his mind, but try as he might he couldn't shove it away. He wanted to start a clan with this she-wolf and make her his alpha. They could have pups and eventually grow into a strong pack. And maybe they could even get his revenge on FireClan and Bloodlust. Trying to keep his hopes low, he shuffled into the nook and settled down for the remainder of the night. His lean body pressed against the she-wolf for warmth, and they fell into a weary sleep.
It was late morning by the time Frostfeather woke up. The sun shined down into his nook and into his sensitive eyes. With a growl, he stretched and got up on his paws. With a start, he realized his female friend was already gone. His heart dropped and all his dreams from the night before began to fade. He chastised himself for being so foolish and immature. He should be focusing on surviving, not making up far off fantasies. Frostfeathers stomach growled, letting him know it was time to stop thinking and time to start eating. He exited the nook and closed his eyes, taking in a sniff of his surroundings. He smelled vole! Opening his blue eyes immediately, he stood stunned. The she-wolf from the night before stood in the clearing, crouched and ready to attack the vole that was peeking its head from the snow. She leaped too soon though, and the vole darted into his tunnels in the snow and out of sight. Sitting down, she gave a frustrated growl. Using his sharp ears, Frostfeather managed to pin-point the location of another vole. Making sure she was watching, he carefully stalked the critter, waiting for its whole body to appear out of the snow. He waited for the right minute and- THUMP! – The vole was clamped between his jaws. He flicked his tail and turned towards the white she-wolf. She snorted and began searching for a new animal to catch. The competition was on!
After an hour, it became apparent that the she-wolf could not hunt to save her life. Literally. Frostfeather had caught five voles in the hour, while the she-wolf managed to only injure one. Giving up their game, they decided to satisfy their hunger and settled down for a meal of vole. The voles were stringy and tasteless and rather small, what with it being winter and all. But it was enough to silence the growling of their stomachs for a little while.
"So, you're a loner wolf then, right?" Frostfeather asked his companion once the prey had disappeared. But she of course did not reply to his question. He'd expected this, so he continued on with his next question of interest.
"Since you won't tell me your name," He began carefully. "I must think up one for myself."
She gazed at him; dark brown eyes little pools of color. Her pelt shimmered like ice in the sunlight. And like all wolves, her name was born from her appearance at that very moment.
"Frostpool," He decided, looking at her for approval. "I will call you Frostpool, for your eyes are like pools of darkness and your fur like the frost from the trees."
Frostpool made no movement to indicate any understanding, but Frostfeather could tell from her eyes that she was pleased. His heart leaped up again with hope, and they began another hunting game. With the bright sun warming the snow, the voles felt brave enough to face the cold and left their warm burrows under the snow. Hunting was quick and easy, and with the meat in her stomach and a full rest behind her, Frostpool was looking better already. Because of this, and the promise of spring the sunshine brought, Frostfeather was beginning to have a good feeling about his future. A future that hopefully include Frostpool.